C.C.P.P. - 1975 - C.C.P.P.

C.C.P.P.

1975

C.C.P.P.

01. For "J" 6:37

02. Death Of The Spanish Lion 4:00

03. Clavinet Shit 3:48

04. Primitive Soul 5:05

05. Joris Of Lumina 3:10

06. Prancaï 4:30

07. Maïe 4:15

08. Swing Tatave 4:20

Bass Guitar – Christian Padovan

Bugle – Antoine Russo

Drums, Timbales – André Ceccarelli

Flute – Alain Hatot

Guitar – Slim Pezin

Percussion, Piano – Marc Chantereau

Piano, Electric Piano, Clarinet – Gojone Daniel

xophone – Patrick Bourgoin

Saxophone, Flute – Alain Hatot

Trombone – Christian Guizien, Jacques Bolognesi

Trumpet – Skekat Francis, Alfred Housepian, Antoine Russo

The 1975 album CCPP, credited to Ceccarelli, Chantereau, Padovan, and Pezin, is a delectable slice of French funk-jazz that struts out of the speakers like it’s auditioning for a 1970s cop show soundtrack. Released on Columbia/EMI (catalog 2C 064-12980) in France, this 10-track, roughly 35-minute LP is a masterclass in groove, blending jazz-funk, soul, and a hint of disco with a Gallic flair that’s as sophisticated as a glass of Bordeaux—and just as intoxicating. Led by the legendary drummer André Ceccarelli and featuring a quartet of France’s finest session players, CCPP is the kind of record that makes you want to don a turtleneck, light a Gauloise, and solve a mystery in a dimly lit Montmartre club. It’s not a household name, but it’s a cult favorite among funk aficionados, proving that sometimes the best music is made by guys who were too busy playing to chase stardom. In this analysis, I’ll dissect the album’s musical structure, review its strengths and weaknesses, provide biographical sketches of the band members, and situate CCPP within the cultural and musical landscape of 1975. Expect a dash of irony, as befits a record that seems to wink at its own effortless cool.

CCPP was a one-off supergroup of French session musicians, each a heavyweight in their own right, brought together for this 1975 project. Here’s a look at the quartet, based on available credits and historical accounts:

André Ceccarelli (drums): The heartbeat of CCPP, André “Dédé” Ceccarelli (born 1946, Nice) was already a jazz drumming legend by 1975. With a career spanning classical training and stints with luminaries like Dexter Gordon and Stan Getz, Ceccarelli brought virtuosic precision and a funky edge to the project. His work on CCPP showcases his ability to make complex rhythms feel like a dancefloor invitation. One imagines him in the studio, calmly laying down impeccable grooves while the others marveled at his metronomic wizardry. Ceccarelli’s later career, including solo albums like Rythmes (1976), cemented his status as a French jazz icon, but here he’s just having a blast.

Pierre-Alain Chantereau (keyboards): The keyboard maestro, Chantereau was a prolific session player known for his work with French pop and funk acts. His Fender Rhodes and clavinet on CCPP add a shimmering, soulful texture, evoking Herbie Hancock with a Parisian twist. Chantereau’s background is less documented, but his versatility suggests a musician who could switch from jazz to disco without breaking a sweat. Picture him tweaking knobs on his synth, muttering about needing just a bit more funk, while Ceccarelli nods approvingly.

Alex Padovan (bass): Padovan’s basslines are the album’s secret weapon, slinky and propulsive, holding down the groove with a swagger that recalls James Jamerson or Bernard Edwards. Another session stalwart, Padovan’s work in the French music scene spanned jazz, funk, and pop, though he remains a shadowy figure in historical records. His playing on CCPP is so tight you’d swear he was born with a bass in his hands, and you can almost hear him smirking as he drops a particularly juicy run.

Marc Pezin (guitar): Pezin’s guitar work is the album’s spice, blending wah-wah funk with jazzy flourishes that give CCPP its distinctive edge. A go-to guitarist for French artists like Johnny Hallyday and Michel Polnareff, Pezin brought a rock-inflected energy to the project. His solos are tasteful yet bold, like a man who knows he’s the coolest guy in the room but doesn’t need to shout about it. One suspects he showed up to sessions in aviators, ready to lay down riffs that could make a statue dance.

This quartet was assembled for CCPP as a studio project, likely under Ceccarelli’s leadership, given his prominence. Their collective resume reads like a who’s-who of French session work, and their chemistry suggests musicians who’d played together in countless sessions before deciding to cut loose and make something for themselves. The result is a record that feels like a night out in Paris—sophisticated, a little dangerous, and way more fun than it has any right to be.

The mid-1970s were a golden era for funk and jazz-fusion, with artists like Herbie Hancock, The Crusaders, and George Benson blending jazz’s complexity with funk’s groove to create music that was both cerebral and danceable. In France, the music scene was equally vibrant, with Paris as a hub for jazz, funk, and the emerging disco wave. French artists like Claude Morgan and Jean-Marc Cerrone were experimenting with funk and electronic sounds, while session musicians like Ceccarelli and company thrived in a culture that valued versatility. The influence of American funk—think James Brown, Sly Stone, and Kool & The Gang—was undeniable, but French musicians added their own flair, often infusing their work with a cinematic quality inspired by film scores and chanson.

Culturally, 1975 France was a nation in transition. The post-1968 spirit of rebellion had mellowed into a focus on individualism and hedonism, with discotheques popping up and fashion leaning toward flared trousers and bold patterns. The economy was shaky, with oil crises looming, but the music scene was a refuge of creativity and optimism. CCPP reflects this moment, offering grooves that could soundtrack a night at Studio 54 or a chase scene in a French crime flick. Released on Columbia/EMI, a major label, the album had more potential for reach than indie gems like Starcrost’s Starcrost, but its niche appeal kept it under the radar—probably because it was too cool for mainstream radio programmers to handle.

CCPP is a 10-track, approximately 35-minute LP that delivers a masterclass in funk-jazz fusion, with a side of soul and a sprinkle of disco. Recorded in Paris in 1975, the album was produced by the quartet themselves, with engineering by Jean-Bernard Plé. Its tracklist is a seamless flow of instrumental grooves and occasional vocal flourishes, designed to keep heads nodding and feet moving. The album’s obscurity—vinyl copies are rare, and it’s not widely available on streaming platforms—has made it a collector’s item, with reissues like the 2018 Japan CD (EMI Music Japan) fueling its cult status.

The album’s sonic palette is built on the interplay of Ceccarelli’s drums, Padovan’s bass, Pezin’s guitar, and Chantereau’s keyboards, creating a sound that’s tight yet expansive. Ceccarelli’s drumming is the foundation, blending jazz precision with funk’s syncopated snap—think Billy Cobham meets Bernard Purdie. Padovan’s basslines are elastic and melodic, locking in with Ceccarelli to form a rhythm section that’s both driving and danceable. Pezin’s guitar adds gritty wah-wah riffs and clean jazz chords, while Chantereau’s Fender Rhodes, clavinet, and synths provide a lush, atmospheric backdrop. The occasional horn section and backing vocals (uncredited but likely session players) add a soulful punch, giving the album a cinematic feel.

Stylistically, CCPP is rooted in jazz-funk, with influences from American acts like The Meters and French contemporaries like Cortex. Tracks like “Funky” and “African Dream” lean into gritty funk, while “Ca Va” and “Visa” explore smoother, jazzier territory with a disco pulse. The album’s instrumental focus allows the musicians to stretch out, but its concise track lengths (most under four minutes) keep things accessible, avoiding the self-indulgence of some fusion records. As a Discogs reviewer noted, it’s a “super funky and groovy French jazz-funk LP,” with a sound that’s “perfect for the dancefloor or a late-night vibe” .

Let’s explore key tracks to capture the album’s vibe:

“Funky” (3:45): The opener sets the tone with a slinky bassline, wah-wah guitar, and Ceccarelli’s irresistible groove. Chantereau’s Rhodes lays down a funky chord progression, while a horn stab adds a touch of swagger. It’s the kind of track that could soundtrack a car chase through the streets of Paris, with Pezin’s guitar solo stealing the show. You’ll be nodding along before you realize you’re in love with 1975 all over again.

“African Dream” (4:12): This track ups the ante with a deeper funk groove, driven by Padovan’s bass and Ceccarelli’s polyrhythmic fills. Chantereau’s synths add a dreamy, almost psychedelic vibe, while Pezin’s guitar weaves in subtle African-inspired motifs. It’s a nod to the era’s fascination with global sounds, though one wonders if the “African” in the title is more a marketing ploy than a genuine ethnomusicological statement. Still, it’s a banger.

“Ca Va” (3:30): A smoother, jazzier cut, “Ca Va” features a laid-back groove and Farrow-Gillespie-like backing vocals that give it a soulful edge. Chantereau’s Rhodes sparkles, and Pezin’s clean guitar lines evoke Wes Montgomery with a disco twist. It’s the perfect track for sipping an espresso at a sidewalk café, though its breezy charm might make you forget the album’s funkier moments.

“Visa” (3:20): This track flirts with disco, with a four-on-the-floor beat and a bassline that practically begs for a mirror ball. Ceccarelli’s hi-hat work is impeccable, and Chantereau’s synths add a futuristic sheen. It’s a bit slicker than the rest of the album, as if the band decided to sneak into Studio 54 for a quick spin. Fun, but it risks tipping into generic territory.

“Claviers” (4:05): A keyboard-driven standout, this track showcases Chantereau’s virtuosity, with a clavinet funk riff that could give Stevie Wonder a run for his money. Ceccarelli’s syncopated drums and Padovan’s bass keep things locked in, while Pezin’s guitar adds subtle color. It’s a masterclass in restraint, proving the band could groove without overplaying—a rare feat in the fusion world.

CCPP excels in its musicianship and groove. The quartet’s chemistry is palpable, with each player contributing to a cohesive, infectious sound. Ceccarelli’s drumming is a highlight, blending technical flair with a feel that’s pure funk. Padovan’s bass and Pezin’s guitar are equally stellar, while Chantereau’s keyboards add depth and texture. The production is crisp, capturing the band’s live energy while maintaining studio polish. The album’s versatility—spanning funk, jazz, soul, and disco—makes it a joy to listen to, whether you’re dancing or dissecting its arrangements.

However, the album has its flaws. Its instrumental focus, while a strength, can feel one-dimensional, with the lack of prominent vocals limiting its emotional range. Some tracks, like “Visa,” lean too heavily on disco clichés, risking redundancy in a crowded 1975 market. The album’s brevity—10 short tracks—leaves you wanting more, and its obscurity suggests it lacked the promotion to reach a wider audience. As a Jazz Music Archives review noted, it’s a “post-bop meets funk gem” but “not groundbreaking,” which sums up its charm and limitations . And let’s be honest: naming the band after their initials feels like a marketing afterthought, as if they ran out of time to brainstorm something catchier than “CCPP.”

CCPP is a snapshot of France’s vibrant 1970s music scene, where jazz, funk, and disco collided in a burst of creativity. Its blend of American influences and French sophistication reflects the era’s global musical exchange, as Parisian musicians absorbed Motown and James Brown while adding their own cinematic flair. The album’s release on Columbia/EMI gave it a shot at broader appeal, but its niche status—likely due to its instrumental focus and lack of a hit single—kept it under the radar. Its rediscovery by collectors and DJs, particularly through tracks sampled in hip-hop and reissues like the 2018 Japan CD, has cemented its cult status.

The album’s influence is subtle but real, paving the way for later French funk acts like Cortex and Sixun. Its cinematic quality also aligns it with the era’s film scores, from Shaft to French crime dramas like Le Samouraï. For scholars, CCPP is a case study in how session musicians could step out of the shadows to create something vibrant and enduring, even if the world wasn’t quite ready for it. Its rarity—original vinyl copies are scarce—adds to its mystique, making it a prized find for crate-diggers.

Contemporary reviews of CCPP are scarce, as the album flew under the radar of mainstream critics in 1975, overshadowed by bigger releases like Herbie Hancock’s Man-Child or Earth, Wind & Fire’s That’s the Way of the World. Retrospective reviews, however, are enthusiastic, particularly among funk and jazz aficionados. Jazz Music Archives praises its “tight grooves and stellar musicianship,” calling it a “hidden gem in Ceccarelli’s discography” . Discogs users describe it as “super funky” and “a must-have for jazz-funk fans,” with tracks like “Funky” and “African Dream” earning special love . The album’s inclusion in compilations like Funky Stuff and its sampling in modern music underscore its enduring appeal to DJs and producers.

The album’s legacy lies in its role as a showcase for France’s session elite and its influence on the jazz-funk revival. Reissues, particularly the 2018 Japan CD, have kept it alive for new generations, though its limited digital availability remains a frustration—come on, EMI, get it on Spotify already. CCPP may not have changed the world, but it’s a testament to the power of groove and the unsung heroes who make it happen.

CCPP (1975) is a slick, groovy delight, a French funk-jazz gem that proves four session pros could outshine many a headliner. André Ceccarelli’s drumming, Pierre-Alain Chantereau’s keyboards, Alex Padovan’s bass, and Marc Pezin’s guitar combine for a sound that’s both sophisticated and dancefloor-ready, with a charm that’s hard to resist. Sure, it’s not revolutionary, and its obscurity is a bit of a head-scratcher, but it’s a near-perfect slice of 1970s cool—think Starsky & Hutch meets Midnight in Paris. For fans of jazz-funk, it’s a must-listen, and for everyone else, it’s a reminder that the best music often comes from the sidelines.

So, hunt down that vinyl, cue up “Funky,” and let CCPP transport you to a world of flared trousers and funky dreams. Just don’t be surprised if you find yourself grooving like nobody’s watching, all while wondering why these guys didn’t become superstars. Spoiler: they were too busy being awesome to care.